


Making the Right Connection

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-02-14
Updated: 2003-02-14
Packaged: 2019-05-15 11:03:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14789300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: "One of these guys had to have everything she was looking for...right? My homage to reality TV shows...starring Donna.





	Making the Right Connection

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

Donna's nervousness rose exponentially with each passing minute.  She had a big decision to make, and she was so terrified of making the wrong one.

It had been such an incredible night. She'd spent it in the company of dozens of men, all of whom were vying for her attention. She was slightly tipsy from all the champagne she had drunk, in order to hide her jitters; none of the men that she had talked to seemed to notice her anxiety, however.

She smiled as she thought about the men she had gotten to know that night. There was Michael, the fighter pilot, who had told her that she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. She felt his green eyes watching her all night, as she mingled and chatted up the other single men.

Eric, the up-and-coming Senator, told her that the moment he met her, he knew that they'd shared a moment, felt a connection. He'd held her hand and only let his blue eyes dip to her breasts once. She thought it was nice that he had appreciated her attempts at fashioning some cleavage for herself that night.

Ramon, the bullfighter, wouldn't have had to say a word. He was that good-looking...he oozed sensuality from every pore. He had dark and moody, romantic eyes that looked into her soul. He didn't even speak English, but she didn't care. She had let him talk her ear off in Spanish for the better part of a half hour, while she nodded and sipped her champagne and tried not to let her eyes dip to *his* chest.

There was Evan, the construction worker, who for some reason kept telling her to call him "Joe;" he wasn't really her type, but she had to admit that she was flattered by his inability to put a declarative sentence together in her presence. He told her that it was because, "you know, you're...I...you're...a pretty girl. Gosh." She was amused by his befuddlement, and was feeling pretty good about the power of her beauty to stun men into wordlessness...until she realized that it was just that he was dumb as a stump. So she moved on...

...and talked to John, with the sexy glasses that made her mouth water. John was a writer, and a poet, and he'd pulled her into a corner, and gotten down on one knee to read her the verses he'd composed for her, on the spot, when she walked into the room:

Donna, oh Donna...

Do you wanna

See Tijauna

With...John...a?

She nearly swooned from the look in his eyes and the romance of it all, and had to press a hand to her heart to keep it from beating out of her chest.

There were a dozen more men for her to meet, all just as gorgeous, just as sexy...just as desperate for a moment of her time, for a sign from her that *he'd* be the one. It was too good to be true. Each of them was hot, and rich, and pre-screened to make sure they weren't serial killers or psychos. They were perfect...right?

Then why was she so nervous? Why did she feel like none of them had what she was really looking for? One of them had to be the right guy, right? Maybe it would be Nick, the pediatric heart surgeon, who had dedicated his life to saving sick kids' lives. Or maybe Tim, the rakish ex-Navy seal who was now training to be a firefighter...surely one of these amazing guys could be *the one?* One of them had to have everything she was looking for...right?

Maybe, with time, once she got to know them a little better, she'd find the one...the one who would make her laugh, the one who would spend a lifetime challenging her, the one with the dedication and drive to make her proud of him, every single day; the one who would know her better than she knew herself.

She sighed, and heard the door creak open behind her. "Donna, it's time," she heard a familiar voice say to her.

She turned, and felt her heart jerk when she saw him. The Host. *Why couldn't *he* be one of the men I have to choose from?* she thought for the millionth time that night. But she couldn't think about that now. She had a decision to make. "This is going to be so hard," she said to the Host, trying not to get teary. "I didn't realize how difficult it was going to be to say goodbye to some of these guys."

"Yeah, you're breaking my heart. Let's get this show on the road," he responded, rolling his eyes at her. He tromped back through the open door to the party beyond. Donna was left standing there, alone and annoyed. *That's not what the host is supposed to say,* she thought, with mild annoyance. *And he's supposed to escort me out there. Jackass.*

Liberated woman that she was, she lifted her head high, and sailed out of the room on her own, and stood proudly (and seductively, she hoped), before them all.

She was about to launch into her little speech, where she'd assure them that they were all so very, very special, and if she could, she'd give each of them a rose, and keep them with her forever, but alas, she had to say goodbye to some. She took a deep breath, but then she took a good look at them all.

They all looked...nervous.

Not "Oh my god, I hope she picks me" nervous.

More like "Oh my god, I'm about to get my ass kicked" nervous.

She turned and narrowed her eyes at the Host, asking him, without words, what was going on. He just shrugged and gestured, with his head, at the pile of roses on a table next to her.

She shot him one more annoyed look, and then turned back around and smiled lovingly and sincerely for the men before her. She reached over, and grabbed a rose, tapping it against her smiling lips for a moment as she gathered her strength and resolve.

Finally, with a look of joy on her face, she spoke the first name. "Michael."

And the 6 foot fighter pilot...this brave man who had fought in two wars, who survived being shot down behind enemy lines, using only his Swiss Army knife and some Silly Putty to escape from his captors...stepped forward.

He didn't look good. He didn't look brave, that was for sure.

"Michael," Donna asked, pushing past the anxiety she was feeling at the look of on his face. "Will you accept this rose?"

He smiled at her, and his lips began to form into a "Y"...but then his eyes flicked from Donna's to the space behind her, over her shoulder. He held the Host's eyes for a moment, and then looked back down at Donna. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I can't."  And he kissed her cheek, and with a nervous look behind her again, he moved...no, he *sprinted* for the front door of the mansion.

Donna whipped around again and stared at the Host. "What the hell is going on?" she hissed at him.

"Captain America must have changed his mind," the brown-eyed Host shot back, meeting the challenge in her eyes. "Who's next?" he asked, gesturing at the roses again as he crossed his arms across his chest and gave her a defiant and rather smug smile.

Donna glared at him for another minute, and then turned around. *Okay, well, maybe I wasn't Michael's type," she thought, taking a moment to compose herself. She took another deep breath, and then smiled at the men again.

"Eric."

The hot young rising star of the Democratic party stepped forward. There was sweat pouring down the side of his face.

"Eric, will you accept this rose?"

He looked at her with despair in his eyes. "God, you're beautiful. I'm sorry...I can't." He flicked his eyes at the Host, and then back to her. "I...I need...I'm sorry. I have my political career to think about." And with that, he too bolted for the front door.

Donna whipped around once again to glare at the Host, and she caught him staring after Eric with bloody murder in his eyes.

"Hey! What are you doing?" she demanded, stamping her foot.

The Host kept his narrowed eyes trained on the retreating form of the young man who just left. "Making sure the Senator knows his way back to Washington," he snipped back at her. Now he brought his eyes back to her again. "Go on. Who's next?"

Donna was seriously frustrated right now, and having a ridiculous sense of déją vu. Shaking it off, she turned her attention back to the crowd. *Someone brave, someone brave,* she thought, and then she smiled a secret smile. *Let's see him scare this one off!* she thought in triumph.

"Ramon," she said, shooting a look back over her shoulder at the Host as if to say, "Bring it on."

"Ramon," Donna purred, once the gorgeous Spaniard got up close. He shot a defiant look at the man standing behind her, and then ran his hands up and down her arms. "Mi corazon," he growled in her ear.

"Ooh, that means 'my heart,' right?" Donna laughed, reaching back to the one semester of Spanish that she'd taken at Madison. "Ramon...will you accept this rose?" she asked, holding it out to him and hoping that he'd understand what she was trying to say.

And just as he smiled into her eyes, and reached out for the rose...the Host's cell phone rang. "Ignore him," Donna said, clutching Ramon's arms and trying to keep his gaze on her.

"Uh, sorry to interrupt," the Host said, trying to keep the snicker out of his voice. "Ramon, it's for you," he said, gesturing broadly so that the Spanish hunk of meat could understand. "Es *la Migra.*  For you," Josh said, emphasizing the first three words loudly.

Donna watched Ramon freeze, and then back away a step. "No...por favor," Donna said, trying desperately to think of something to make him stay. All she could remember right now, however, was "Ramon esta en el baul del carro," - Ramon is in the trunk of the car - and she didn't think that would make him feel any better at the moment.

With a frightened whimper, Ramon hightailed it out of the room. Now Donna was pissed.

"JOSH!" she screamed at the Host. "Are you insane? You turned him in to *Immigration*?" she shouted incredulously, waving her arms out to emphasize her anger, and sending rose petals flying all over the room.

"Hey, I'm doing you a favor!" he shouted back. "The guy's clearly dishonest! He lied his way into the countr..."

"Oh just shut up, Josh. Honestly. Don't you ever get tired of hearing yourself...nevermind. I know the answer to that question," she huffed, turning back around to the nervous men before her. Dispensing with the pleasantries, she just started calling names.

"Joe?"

There was no response from the big, dark and curly-haired lug. He was sitting at a heavily decorated table, and trying to figure out which fork to pick up to eat his salad with.

"Joe?" Donna tried again.

Still no response.

"EVAN!" Donna yelled, finally penetrating his gray matter.

"Oh, uh, yeah, hey, Donna. What's up?"

"Do you want the damn rose?" she asked, completely impatient now.

"Yeah...no. Sorry."

"Why the hell not?" she asked, glaring at him.

"Well, the producers told me you were, like, a billionaire, but then Josh over there pulled me aside a few minutes ago, and like, you know, told me you're on a government salary. Sorry, but, you know. It's not like I have the ability to support *myself!*" he laughed, shuddering at the thought. Then, in an instant, he looked over at one of the other men sitting at the table. "Hey, are you going to eat that?"

Donna groaned, and tried a few more names.

"Nick?"

"Sorry..."

"Tim?"

"Hey, Donna, I'd love to, but..."

"Tiiiiim!" she whined. "Come on! You can totally take him!" Donna said, gesturing at Josh's physique as opposed to the ex-Navy seal's. "What are you so scared of?"

"Well, it's just...I didn't exactly pay all of...okay, any of, my taxes over the last few years...and, well, Josh mentioned that if I left quietly, maybe he'd put in a good word for me at the IRS, and call off the audit he said that they were about to launch on me..."

Donna's eyes went wide, and blazed blue with rage. "That's IT!" she yelled, whirling around and grabbing the Host's arm. "Can I speak with you?" she asked, not giving him the option of answering one way or the other as she pulled him into the small room she had been in earlier.

She pushed him in, and slammed the door behind her. "What in the hell is your problem, Josh? What was wrong with those guys? I'll tell you what was wrong with them. NOTHING!" she shouted, pacing back and forth in front of him, her hands clenched into fists as she struggled not to use them on him. "There wasn't a gomer in the bunch!" she shouted, incredulously.

"Oh, really?" he asked, glaring back and letting derision fill his voice. "Did you actually *hear* the poem that John wrote for you, or did the sheer crappiness of it make you deaf on the spot?"

"You know what, Josh?" she deflected, not wanting to admit that yes, in fact, the poem had sucked.

"No, what, Donna?" he snarked back, walking towards her, and making her take a step back. He took another step forward, and now she found herself with her back up against the door to the room.

She stood, anger seething out of every pore of her body, her chest heaving as she breathed heavily and tried to formulate a response that would tell him, in no uncertain terms, just how much of a complete and utter jerk and jackass he really was. But then she saw his eyes. Those brown eyes that she'd been looking for, but couldn't find in any of the men in the room behind her.

And she felt her anger quickly being replaced with an old, familiar feeling that both comforted and tormented her...desire. For him.

"What's going on?" she finally whispered, watching him as he took another step towards her.

"It's not what you think," he said, his anger draining away, and a new look coming into his eyes...one she had always hoped to see there, but hadn't before. There was desire there, now. For her.

"It's not?" she asked, disappointment creeping into her voice as he boxed her in, with one hand on either side of her head, pressing his palms to the door.

He watched her eyes for a moment, and then he dropped his eyes to her lips, and then her cleavage, and then her body in that tight black dress, and then back up again.

"Well," he said, bringing his hands to frame her face now. "Okay. Maybe it is." And as a symphony of soaring violins rose in the background, he leaned in, closer, closer...his lips an inch away...and she parted her lips to greet his own...and then...*finally*...

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BE-

Donna's hand automatically shot out to slap at her alarm clock.

She fuzzily sat up, with a dreamy smile on her face, and then opened her eyes, to find herself alone, in bed, at 6am.

And when she realized that it had all been a dream, she let out a frustrated moan, and collapsed back against her pillows, and pulled the covers up over her head.

**************

the end.

 


End file.
